Monster Job
by KKBELVIS
Summary: The Winchester brother's burning desire for saving people brings them to a hunt along an abandoned boardwalk. Here, they encounter a half-sunken boat, a salty bay, wind, rain, lightning, fog, dreadlocks, scurrying shadows, sharp claws, and one, tricky, monster-of-a-job. Note: Story is complete - chapters post quickly.
1. Chapter 1

MONSTER JOB

By: Karen B

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Summary: The Winchester brother's burning desire for saving people brings them to a hunt along an abandoned boardwalk. Here they encounter a half-sunken boat, a salty bay, wind, rain, lightening, fog, dreadlocks, scurrying shadows, sharp claws, and one, tricky, monster-of-a-job.

Disclaimer: Not the owner

Rated: Ridiculously shameless hurt/comfort Sam, big brother Dean, and splash of Bobby added in just for fun.

AN: Story is complete. Chapters post fast.

**_Don't worry about a thing, every little thing is gonna be alright"_**_**~ Bob Marley**_

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It was dark and damp and the blowing wind reigned over the night.

Sam kept close to Dean as they stalked through the thick, gray fog along the long stretch of wooden pathway.

At one time it must have been a quaint boardwalk. With benches for fisherman to sit on when they got tired of standing, or old couples to come and watch the orange and pink swirls of the setting sun. Maybe enjoy a picnic, some fudge and saltwater taffy, take a romantic stroll, or share a kiss. Long abandoned, the boardwalk was now weathered and warped and missing a few planks. The tall wrought iron lampposts running alongside the walk no longer shed any light. Every glass globe was smashed and electrical wires exposed to the corrosion of saltwater.

Dean had parked the Impala at the North end of the boardwalk, in a sandy, nesting seagull-infested parking lot. There wasn't much here. To the right of them, salty bay water churned and foamed. To the left of them, stood the burnt out shells and nubs of commercial buildings. It was all that remained of a once a flourishing shopping district.

So far the only sign of life they'd found were a few scurrying shadows. Tiny bodies with long thin tails freely racing about near a row of overflowing dumpsters, the mice foraging and nosing about through piles of rotting trash.

"What do you think?" Sam asked as they paused next to a half-sunken sailboat, the soft murmur of the bay restlessly lapping against the decaying haul, its sails long gone.

Dean didn't answer, to busy analyzing the area.

The sharp clang of the boat's tarnished brass bell rang out eerily as the waves rocked the forgotten vessel like a cradle against the boulders it had beached itself against so long ago.

Dean sighed. They couldn't even depend on the light of the full moon as it was hidden behind the clouds.

They were hunting a rare and scary fang and claws cannibal. One they honestly didn't know much about. What they did know about pier monsters was that they were strong and fast and ambushed their prey, dragging them down into the ocean where they were never seen again. The creature had already taken out six people in the last four months. Two of which were hunters, hunters that had gone in stealth and sharp and quiet and concealed, but still ended up dead.

Sam and Dean decided on a different approach.

Ambush the ambusher.

They'd go in loud and straight forward.

It was a risky maneuver. But the Winchester brothers were trained well by their father. They were always intimately aware of their surroundings, cautious, and alert, while at the same time pretending not to be.

Sam could sense his brother's hesitation.

"Dean? What are you thinking?" Sam asked again, shining his flashlight back and forth cutting through the fog.

"I'm thinking something smells fishy." Dean shrugged, stuffing his hands down further into his pockets, fingers wrapping naturally around the cool butt of his gun.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother. "Of course it smells fishy, the ocean's right over there." Sam directed the beam of his light to the choppy waves of the bay.

"No, Sammy, that's not what I – "Dean froze, and started to draw his weapon, but stopped when he looked down. "You bastard," he snipped.

"What?" Sam quickly dropped the beam of his flashlight. "Dean," he chuckled lightly when he saw the orange striped tabby, all tail and whiskers twisting in and out between Dean's legs. "Just a cat, man," he scoffed.

"Hate cats." Dean wiggled his nose. "I hate you," he squawked at the feline still rubbing up against his legs.

"Well, Miss Kitty loves you," Sam laughed. "How can you hate something so adorable and cute?" he asked, keeping the cat in his spotlight.

"You know they make my eyes swell and tear and my throat itch. Ahem," Dean cleared his throat and rubbed at his eyes for proof. "Get the hell away from me sandy-poop." Dean crinkled his nose and let a big, loud, wet sneeze.

The cat hissed and its tail puffed as it darted off disappearing behind a coil of rope.

"Hate cats," Dean muttered wiping his nose across his sleeve.

"Dude, disgusting," Sam commented absently, sending his light searching back out through the murkiness of the mist. "Over there." He gestured with the beam; now spotlighting what appeared to be an old fishing shack surrounded by brush and trees a far distance from the end of the boardwalk.

"I'll check that out," Dean said getting back to the job. "You check out what's left of the S.S. Minnow here."

Sam nodded, turning on the balls of his feet and stepped away from Dean.

"Hey." Dean reached out and grabbed Sam's elbow, stopping him. "You find Ginger and Mary Ann…"

"I know, I know." Sam smirked. "You call dibs on Ginger."

"Bro." A silly smile spread over Dean's face and he nodded. "I call dibs on both hot chicks. You and The Professor can get your nerd on in the Howell's hut. Ha," Dean laughed dryly.

"Jerk." Sam reflexively tried to pull away from Dean's hold.

"Sam." Dean held him in place, a dead-serious look coming to his eyes. "Remember," he snatched a quick glance around.

"I know, Dean," Sam said dully. "Winner of the scavenger hunt wins."

"A six pack and a free game of pool," Dean specified, letting go of Sam.

"Was thinking more along the lines of remote control privileges," Sam countered, noting every sweep of the wind and contrasting pattern of light and dark.

Dean released Sam, looking pissed. "Ain't never gonna happen, little brother." Every one of Dean's senses was being utilized, yet looking as comfortable as a man in a Lazy Boy with a beer in hand, watching the 'big' game.

Sam huffed, red-faced. In all his life he never got control of the controls. Not unless Dean wasn't in the room. "Take this," he went to hand Dean the flashlight.

"Don't need it. I've got the eye of the tiger," Dean refused the offer. "Call it your handicap, Sammy," he winked and walked away.

"Don't get too cocky, Dean," Sam whispered, running his fingers through his hair nervously as he watched his brother disappear down the boardwalk into the fog.

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Twenty minutes later, and finding nothing in the surrounding trees or inside the fishing shack other than a few squeaking mice, Dean searched around outside the dilapidated building.

"Let's see here," he said, crouching down along the backside of the shed as a light drizzle began to fall. "First thing on the scavenger hunt list…" He reached for a nearby stick and started picking through newspapers, cups, and other blood soaked debris. "Freshly gnawed on ribs," he growled. "Gross." He wrinkled his nose at the stringy meat still hanging off the human bone. "And…" He half turned, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and flipping it open. Using it for light, he scanned the nearby area. "Crap," he snarled seeing large muddy footprints –the web-footed, clawed kind. They were fresh and they were leading back toward the boardwalk. _The thing probably had been watching them from the old shack for quite some time. And how the fuck did they not see it? _

"Ambush hunter," Dean answered his own question. "Disappears into its own surroundings…that's great," he uttered under his breath while swiftly dialing up his brother and waiting impatiently for Sam to pick up."Of course not," he muttered when the cell phone went straight to voicemail. Before Sam's recorded message had finished, there came the frightful, nightmarish howl of a cat, followed quickly by the sharp clanging of the ships bell, and a gunshot. "Crap." Dean flipped the phone shut and pocketed it. Already on his feet, he drew his gun and struck out through the darkness toward the ship.

_Damn it. He shouldn't have split them up._ He tried to justify what he'd heard as he ran. Maybe kitty box was just calling out for its mate. Or …maybe the wind was responsible for the clang of the bell. If it weren't for the fact Dean's instincts were burning like a beacon in his gut, and the fact Sam had fired his weapon he'd go with both those first two ideas.

"No such luck," he gasped pouring on the speed, turbo charged legs still not moving fast enough. "Sammy," he panted out of breath. "So help me if you're hurt or…or…I'll…I'll…" Dean sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, biting off his words.

As he neared the vessel he tamped his adrenalin down and forced himself from an all-out run to a dead-slow walk, approaching the broken down boat with caution, gun at his side.

There was nothing.

No cat.

No Sam.

Even the wind had died down.

The only sound was the soft patter of rain hitting the water, and the only movement was the night fog curling over the black-as- lacquer bay.

Moving noiselessly over the slanted, weathered wood, Dean was on high alert. Completely focused and eyeballing the area. He was trembling now, his blood sieging through his veins – cold as ice – breath hitching and finger itching to pull the trigger at the first sign of trouble.

The boat was covered in algae and practically one with the boulders it was smashed up against. A rope ladder hung off the side of the vessel. Dean tucked his gun at his back needing both hands to climb.

As he climbed, the ladder swung left and rocked right, the dry rotted rope creaking under his weight and threatening to snap.

"Captain Morgan you are not, Dean," he muttered, drawing his gun back out and pulling himself over the tarnished rail easing quietly down onto the rain-slicked deck.

Up here the boat was bigger than it looked. He quickly found his sea legs and made his way over the bowed, and cracked plywood as the boat rocked in time with the water below.

He noticed an open hatch, and decided to check below first. The twisting steps were rickety and slimy, and Dean was extremely careful of his footing. He found himself in the galley. The kitchen was full of old paint cans, dirty rags, cracked china, a pair of rubber fishing boots, and nothing more.

The dripping, sagging floor above him suddenly creaked, and then squeaked.

Narrowing his eyes, Dean practically floated back up the spiral stairs. He stood and rotated around seeing a few empty crates, a busted fishing rod, and a dead cod. The wind blew hard, bringing with it the putrid smell of raw sewage or was that bear crap? He gagged as the wind continued to blow, pressing his nose into the sleeve of his jacket, realizing he didn't hear the clang of the bell. Was this a ghost ship? _What did they get themselves into?_

He moved forward to scope out the captain's cabin. The ships wheel was missing, the floor covered in broken glass, torn maps and empty beer bottles. Dean stepped in a little further, his foot hitting something solid, a hollow clank ringing out. He glanced down. "Son of a-" It was the ship's bell, and it was dotted with fresh, wet blood.

He gritted his teeth. This was a good and a bad thing. Good, because he knew Sam was still aboard, big brother radar told him as much. Bad, because the kid was hurt.

Back out on the open deck it was deathly quiet. The moon silvered out from behind a dark cloud revealing more drops of red that reflected under its eerie glow. Dean pressed his lips together, forcing himself not to call out to Sam. He followed the blood trail, inching alongside the outer cabin walls. He and Sam used to dream about owning a boat. Of sailing the high seas, fishing rod in one hand, ice cold beers in the other. Some hard work, sandpaper, epoxy, new planks and screws, this could be that boat.

Just as Dean came around to the port side, he froze in a typical shooting stance, not surprised at all by what he saw.

"You fugly bitch," he hissed, temper flaring.

The pier monster was in plain view. Standing as tall as a grizzly bear on its hind legs, eight-and-a-half, if not nine-feet tall. Blood dripped into its oversized eyes from what looked like a fresh bullet graze. There was a deep scar ringed around its neck, probably from another hunter's failed attempt at chopping off its head. Its webbed hands and feet had claws as long as knives, lengthy tangles of slimy, leafy-green seaweed hung like dreadlocks and cascaded down over the creature's bulging shoulders.

As nightmarishly terrible as the creature was, more nightmarishly terrible was the fact his brother's back was draped spinelessly over one of the pier monster's tree-trunk sized arms, webbed hand wrapped tightly around him and holding him high up against its chest, covering its heart. Sam's large frame made one lovely human shield.

"You bitch," Dean repeated, raising his gun thinking headshot.

The moon took that moment to slide back behind a cloud, and the small shower started to come down a little faster. Dean strained to see. He couldn't tell if Sam was breathing. Between strands of his brother's shaggy hair blowing about in the wind, he could just barely see Sam's facial color. It was white as bone. More disturbing was his little brother's right arm hanging in a funky way toward the deck and flapping about freely. Broken, or dislocated, or both? Dean couldn't be certain.

The creature ducked its head and hunched over Sam, its bulky body swaying to and fro in time with the rocking boat, Sam limply swaying with it. Its sharp talons clicked against the wooden deck daring Dean to take the shot.

He didn't.

"Damn you, Sam."

Dean wanted so badly to drop the bitch flat and dead to its back.

Right now!

Right there!

Hopefully all it would take was one swift bullet to its fugly heart, but he couldn't risk it, couldn't risk Sam.

"Yow, mon, every-ting cool here," Dean slurred in a Jamaican accent, gun muzzle trained slightly off to one side. "Just put him down." As soon as the monster did, Dean would take the kill shot. "Put him down and walk away," he said, Jamaican accent gone. _What was he thinking? Trying to negotiate with a monster?_

As predicted that would never happen. The pier monster's teeth ground together, and its lips curled into an almost smug look on its face.

"Oh, you…on the deck," Dean muttered. "Put him down… on the deck," Dean clarified. "Softly," he added.

It was very clear by the glint of intelligence in the bitch's eyes that it knew exactly what it was doing. Knew it had something Dean wanted, and that something was keeping its sorry ass alive. That was of course unless Sam was already –

"Now!" Dean trained his gun back on the beast, a tingling of anticipation in his trigger finger as he drew a bead on the thing's right leg.

The creature sneered at Dean and raised a webbed foot to the ships tarnished rail, giving Sam a squeeze.

Sam grunted breathlessly and his body shuddered, the fingers of his swaying hand going into a spasm.

"I swear…" Dean gulped in some air, taking a slow measured step closer, relieved that at least Sam was still alive.

The creature growled from deep within its chest. Moving awkwardly with the weight of Sam in its arms and hanging half over the side. The screeching sound of razor sharp claws cutting into steel sent a chill racing up Dean's spine.

"Don't!" Dean barked, freezing like a statue.

If the creature dove into the cold, black waters of the bay taking an unconscious Sam with it…every little ting would not be okay.

"Just don't," Dean lowered his voice, but not his weapon.

The pier monster showed no sign of fear, digging its claws into Sam, holding tighter, threatening to break bones – a child unwilling to give up its toy.

More grunts came from Sam, and his eyes fluttered once.

"Sam, wake up," Dean called out, eyes still on the creature gun raised higher. No choice, he prepared to take the headshot. It might not kill the thing, but it could slow it down. "Sam," Dean called more urgently, gaze locked on the monster. "I need you."

Sam's eyes flicked open and closed, open and closed.

"Sammy, help!" Dean hollered.

To Dean's shock, the monster remained where it was, seemingly distracted by something off to its right. Maybe its head wound was worse than it looked, or perhaps the freak was trying to decide if it could jump fast enough with Sam in tow and still avoid Dean's bullet.

Sam's head rose up slightly, disoriented eyes searching. "D'n?"

Dean smiled. Sam would always come through for him. "I'm right here." Dean let his gaze drift away from the monster. "Right here, little brother."

"What?" Sam frowned at his older brother – curious and confused.

"We've got ourselves a real problem, kiddo." Dean gave a curt nod, his gaze going back to the pier monster. "Banana boat here wants to take you down where its wetter."

Sam turned his eyes upward, suddenly realizing his predicament.

"You see what we're looking at?"

The wind picked up blowing the creatures slimy dreadlocks against his cheek. "Nuh," Sam muttered in panic, wiggling about.

The monster howled and gripped him tighter, driving the pain in Sam's arm straight up to lodge in his head sending everything spiraling about.

"Dead monster walking, Sammy," Dean confidently said, taking another step and pausing. "Going to put your ugly ass fish head on a plate…little lemon…little garlic," Dean said sternly. "Little cayenne pepper," he added, tightening his grip on his gun.

The creature in return tightened its grip on Sam.

"Gah," Sam bit out and his eyes rolled up into his head at the pressure that threatened to break bones as the creature hugged him closer.

"You're dead, Mr. Tallyman," Dean threatened, gritting his teeth, battling to keep a handle on his emotions. He was pissed and scared and pissed. If the monster moved or he didn't time the rock of the boat just so…he could miss the shot. There was no margin for error.

Sam's body was stiff, mouth partially open, nostrils flaring.

"Sam, you stay with me," Dean called to him.

Sam groaned, but opened his eyes and kept them locked on Dean's, though he appeared to still be pretty out of it.

_Trust me. _Dean gave a quick minuscule smile. _I got this. _ He gave a wink, then his eagle-eyed glare switched back to the monster, studying every breath of the creature, every twitch of an eye, every muscle contraction.

Dean eased back on the trigger. Everything moved in sloth-like motion as the pier monster found another foothold and pushed higher upward, twisting out over the water, tightening its hold on Sam. It was going overboard and it was taking Sam with it.

"Meow… meow…meow." The musical sound came as the orange tabby appeared out of the darkness, doing a balancing act as it walked down the rail toward the pier monster.

The pier monster turned to snarl at the cat, distracting it for a split second and loosening its hold on Sam.

Dean reacted, rushing forward. "Six foot, seven foot, eight foot, die!" he pulled the trigger sending a single silver flash lighting up the dark, the thunder of his gun echoing over the water.

The monster jerked as the bullet struck its heart sending a spray of blood out over the bay and into the blackness.

"Me say day, me say day-ay-ay-o," Dean sung out excitedly as the monster let out a bellowing howl, but his excitement faded fast when Sam cried out in pain, his injured arm having slammed into the rail as the creature fell toward the boat deck.

Dean moved in to catch Sam before his brother could hit the planks, but the creature took one last breath and flung Sam gracelessly over the rail into the chilly water before dropping flat to the boats deck, blood pouring out of its slimy body.

"Nooooooo!" Dean screamed, his triumph abruptly stolen. "No, no, no." already on the move, his gun slipped from his fingers falling to the wooden planks with a dull thud. He was stripped of his jacket by the time his right foot hit the bottom rung, hip-hopping up and over the ships rail and dropping feet first – a rush of screaming wind in his ears and emptiness beneath his feet as he fell.

TBC…

AN: Story is complete. Next chapter soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

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Dean sucked in a huge breath just before he hit the cold water.

Like a human torpedo he sank down at least six feet, and for one dizzying moment hung suspended in the murkiness. His eyes were wide open, but everything around him was black, senses clouded and disoriented. Dean held tight to his breath, impulsively feeling the need to draw in air. As the shock of cold water wore off, one thought went through his head and one thought only:

_He's injured._

_He wasn't totally with it._

_He's drowning._

_Sam's drowning._

The devastating words spurred Dean into action. He swam and pitched angrily about in the current, hand's reaching, fingers grasping, but snatching onto nothing.

Minutes ticked by and he began to panic when his body started to tingle, signaling he wasn't getting enough oxygen. Dean pushed himself further. Sam came first, before any need of his own. He wasn't stopping. He wasn't coming up for air. Wasn't going to waste the precious seconds.

Dean swam deeper. Swam faster. Hands reaching out as water roared in his ears. His body bucked in protest. _Faster Dean. Search faster__. _His heart galloped, threatening to rip out of his chest. Above the surface lightning must have flashed, and for a few seconds the murky underwater world glowed lush-green.

Dean stopped swimming and floated in the midst of the sea kelp. He looked down, looked left, looked right, all the while spinning. _No little brother. Shit. _His body bucked in protest again, and this time he gulped in a few involuntary mouthfuls of water. Time was up. He had to get air.

_Saaammmm! _The word came out muffled, bubbles streaming out his lips. Lips that he'd clamped shut as he was forced to swim upward. _Damn it to hell._

Dean broke the choppy surface of the bay drawing in a long, grating gasp. He raised his chin high, feet kicking, arms windmilling through the water, rotating him round and around.

"Sam!" he choked out, searching, tiny drops of rain hitting his face.

The area was silent, the flood of moonlight creeping in and out of the clouds making the rolling waves seem like living entities, its cold fingers threatening to yank Dean back under. Had they yanked Sam so far down Dean would never find him in the murkiness? Maybe Sam had gotten tangled in the sea kelp and was only inches away from him? The thought freaked him out.

He was just about to dive back under, but something told him not to. Instead, he looked over his shoulder toward the shoreline. His attention was drawn to a long, bulky shape stretched out flat, weaving and bobbing at the water's edge. Dean frowned and narrowed his eyes in concentration.

Lightning whipped across the sky and Dean's belly suddenly clenched tight as if he'd been hit.

For the love of god," he cried and struck out toward the shore, never tearing his eyes away from the shadowy shape. The closer he got, the more he freaked. It was Sam. He was face down in the shallows of the bay. And he was not moving. "Sammy," he called out louder, his voice deep and strained and waterlogged.

Sam didn't respond in any way.

"No, no, no." Dean gurgled around another mouthful of water, cutting through the waves faster. "Sam, chin up, you hear me, man? Chin up!" Dean demanded, not missing a stroke even though he was cold and shaky and exhausted.

There was still no movement from Sam, other than the relaxed rocking motion his body made as the waves lapped around him.

_Okay, okay, calm down. Sam made it to shore. _

"Just got to be breathing, Sammy," Dean sputtered. "Just be breathing," he begged keeping his strokes steady and even. His lungs were a burning wreck and his arms and legs felt like Slurpee juice, but still he swam. "Almost there, almost there," he panted encouragingly.

Dean's furiously kicking feet finally collided with the soft, squishy mud of the shoreline.

Lightning sizzled and the wind swept through the trees sending rain and wet leaves twirling through the air and smacking him in the face.

"Sam," Dean screeched breathing hard, pointlessly shaking water from his eyes and out of his hair and ears.

Sam's head was turned toward him. His eyes were closed, long, dark hair swishing back and forth in the water. His pale face was covered with mud and scratches and streaks of blood, waves lapping at his mouth.

"Sam." Dean tried to stand, but he hit his knees, sinking into the clay-like sediment. His boots – which he'd failed to take off–were full of seawater and his legs were Icee-numb."Come on. Come on. Don't you dare bail on me," Dean shouted unable to see any indication that Sam was alive as he crawled through the mushy muck to get to his brother's side. "Sammy," he gasped, quivering hands reaching out as he bent low over Sam. The smell of rancid mud mingling with the sickly sweet scent of blood nearly made him puke. "Let me…let me see you, let me see you, buddy." Dean swallowed back the bile lifting Sam's head up out of the mud, cradling it in his right palm.

Sam's head wobbled freely in Dean's tentative hold.

"Hey," Dean ducked lower to peer into Sam's face. "Atta boy, Sammy," he laughed hysterically, feeling wet puffs of air hit his cheek. Shakily Dean reached two fingers to the side of Sam's neck and pressed inward. "Strong pulse," Dean sighed thankfully, stroking his brother's cold, wet cheeks with his thumbs.

On the edge of blackness Sam's skin prickled from the touch, but he couldn't get any part of his numb body to cooperate.

Swiping a clump of wet, muddy hair back out of his brother's face, Dean lowered Sam's head back down. Highly trained-eyes and fingers moved up and down the length of Sam's body, checking his neck, spine, and legs. "So far so good," Dean mumbled.

Sam moaned softly, eyes fluttering.

"Shh, shh, easy," Dean soothed. The moon came back out and the happy moment of finding Sam alive disappeared at the sight of his right arm. It lay at his side, bloody bone poking out and unnaturally twisted. "Jesus, Sammy, you could have drowned. How'd you even get to shore? For that matter...how'd you let Marley get the drop on you?" Dean shook his head.

"Drop," Sam mumbled. He was freezing, shaking head to toe.

"Never mind, let's get you onto your back." Dean blinked rain water from his eyes, biting into his lower lip as he prepared to roll Sam over. "Just keep still, little brother," he uttered, placing one hand at the back of Sam's head and the other at his hip. "Let me do all the work here," he said, pulling Sam smoothly and gently toward him.

Sam moaned louder and his brow furrowed_. What was Dean yammering about?_ Something deep inside told him to stay in the blackness where it was safe and warm. But Dean's constant chatter wasn't allowing him to have any of that.

"There. There you go," Dean chanted.

_There goes what?_ Sam thought._ Oh, yeah. The pier monster. _It had a hold of him, twisting his arm up behind his back until his shoulder popped from its socket and a bone in his arm snapped causing him to cry out in pain, then go limp. Things got fuzzy after that. He remembered the loud report of his brother's Glock and then he was falling, sinking, a crushing pressure in his chest.

_No air._

_Panic set in._

_He had no air._

Sam felt his arm stretch and throb violently. "Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhhh…" His eyes snapped open,waterlogged boots scrabbling in the oily mud.

"Whoa! Easy," Dean pressed the flat of his hand to Sam's chest. "Don't move," he said, gently pushing him back down into the squishy mud. "Sam, don't move."

Sam's breaths came hard and in high-pitched rasps,"Dean?"

Dean nodded. "We're good. I killed the bitch, but not before she tossed your ass in the drink. Any of that sounding familiar?"

Sam shuddered, his whole body hurt and he turned his head away from Dean trying to hide the tear that leaked out the corner of one eye. "Yeah." He licked the wetness from his lips, and turned back to look up at his brother.

Dean gently let up on the pressure he had on Sam's chest, then distractedly started fumbling to unbuckle his belt.

"You okay?" Sam gritted his teeth.

"What?" Dean huffed, whipping the leather strap through the sopping wet loops of his jeans, and glaring at Sam's arm with a grimace of pain on his face.

Sam lifted his head and followed Dean's gaze. "Am I okay?" he panted for breath, blinking at the sick deformity.

Dean shifted closer to Sam and said, "Your right arm's fubar, man."

"Fouled up beyond all recognition?" Sam frowned.

"You say 'foul' I say fu–"

"Dean," Sam groaned loudly.

"Okay, okay, Church Lady." Dean shifted closer to Sam trying to block the drops of cold water, worried green eyes locking onto Sam's. "I should pop that shoulder back in, but that piece of bone poking through your skin tells me only one thing," he said, voice tight. "You're going to need a surgeon," Dean whispered, running a hand over his face as rainwater continued to pound down.

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Try not to go down under while I secure that mess you call an arm."

"Already did that," Sam laughed, and then grimaced gulping at the air. His lame attempt at trying to lighten the mood failing.

"Give you remote control privileges for twenty-four hours if you don't," Dean challenged, giving Sam a few precious seconds to brace himself.

"Make it Forty-eight hours," Sam countered, closing his eyes against the falling rain, every muscle going ramrod straight as he tried to prepare for the pain that was inevitable.

"Deal," Dean muttered.

"Too easy," Sam turned his head to one side, pressing his cheek into the sludgy shore. "Should've-sh-should've asked for-for keys to the…to the Pala, too," he wheezed.

Dean ignored the statement. "Here we go. Going to take this real slow," he said wincing. _This was crazy. He didn't have much on him to work with. A wet bandana, his own flannel shirt, and leather belt. Sam didn't need a new wardrobe...he needed a friggin' hospital. At least he was alive. The arm they could fix. _"Always a silver lining," he said under his breath.

The wind pushed a cloud back in front of the moon and the rain continued to fall.

Sam bit deep into his lower lip, eyes squeezing tighter, and concentrating on anchoring himself in the mud, breathing in the sickly sweet smell of rotten snails and curdled cream.

True to his word, Dean kept half his promise, he was quick, but the gentle part was damn near impossible. After just sixty-seconds of Dean's this-will-have-to-make-do first aid, Sam wanted to puke buckets. It took everything in him not to as he gagged.

"All right?" A hand patted softly against his cheek.

"No." Sam grimaced, the pain brutal.

"Take some deep breaths and try to chill." Dean pressed a hand against Sam's forehead giving Sam a minute.

Sam did as Dean instructed. He closed his eyes and took some deep breaths. It helped some, and his hazy brain began to clear more.

"Going to haul your ass out of here, little brother, just hold on," Dean said as he got to work.

Sam kept his eyes closed. Hauling ass sounded good. But not for Dean's reasons. There was something more. Something niggling at Sam, something important he needed to tell Dean. More important than the horrible pain in his shoulder and arm, yet, Sam had no choice but to chill. As carful as Dean was being, he could feel the bone in the limb moving under his skin, coupled with the warmth of blood and drop-after-drop of crazy rain, and his brain felt like it was slish-shoshing from side to side in his skull.

As Dean worked on him, Sam's eyes twitched beneath his lids and the fingers of his left hand curled, mud oozing out between them as he sucked in deep breath after deep breath. His body trembled from cold and probably shock.

The agonizing pain plowed Sam down and trawled him through the stink and muck as it became harder and harder to control.

"Good thoughts, Sam, think good thoughts," Dean chanted.

It was a stupid trick their dad taught them. To go somewhere else when the pain got too bad. In their line of work pain was often bad, and stupid tricks often times worked. Was always worth the try.

So Sam drummed up one of his favorite daydreams: He, and Dean sailing the high seas without a single care in the world. Nothing but blue skies and sunshine, a couple of fishing rods and a cooler of ice-cold beer, strong, prevailing summer winds bellowing through the mainsail of their boat – Serenity – and dolphins playing in their wake.

It was a beautiful dream he and Dean shared, but sorrowfully didn't keep the acute pain away. He couldn't help groaning and shuddering.

"Nearly done, buddy." Dean's voice was distant and strained.

Sam's deep breathing turned ragged. "Dean...I...I..."

"You can do better than that, kid."

Sam tried, but his ragged breathing turned into deep wheezing coughs that made his body tremble harder.

"Guh...I can't." Sam's torso arched up off the ground, no longer control the blackness that, once again enveloped him.

/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/

"Sam, chill-times up."

Someone was stroking his hair, his cheek, cupping his chin.

"Sam?"

Sam groaned inwardly, and opened his eyes. No sea. No sunshine and blue skies. No Serenity. Only Dean. Wet spiky hair and big green eyes staring down at him.

"You back with it yet?" Dean pushed, not liking the milky-white skin and the no-longer-connected-to-this-earth look Sam had about him.

"How long was I out?" Sam risked a glance at his mangled arm now secured across his chest with Dean's belt, and wrapped up in a flannel shirt, a few dots of blood seeping through.

"Just about three minutes," Dean answered, watching a small bit of color come back to Sam's face that had gone pure-white. "No remote privleges for you, man," he lightly teased, the amusement that would normally have been in his eyes absent.

"What else is new?" Sam drawled, his voice horse and cracked as he shivered.

"Sammy, we good?" Dean bent in low, lips pressed thin with worry.

"We?" Sam lifted a hand to his eyes and rubbed at them, his head was pounding, and his arm...there were no words to describe the pain. "We," he uttered.

"Great," Dean scuffed. "Don't tell me you're concussed too." Dean's voice raised, concern, anger, and fear all rolled into one. "How'd you let Marley take you out anyway?"

Sam didn't answer, the niggling in his brain growing.

"Yeah, okay, come on, Sam, we are so getting you a hot date with a doctor." Dean slipped a hand behind Sam's back and raised him up to sit.

The sudden sever pain brought with it bright flashes of memory. "We...them," Sam cried out.

"Hell, Sam." Dean held his brother against him. "Take it easy, before you break something else."

"Them, Dean," Sam swallowed, his stomach roiling. "Them."

"Bro?" Dean drew back, face twisted in confusion.

"That's how it…they got the drop on me. I took a shot at the first one," Sam blinked long and slow, his expression serious and pleading. "But there was another one, hit me with the brass bell from behind and then took off." Sam cocked his head in thought. "Probably was going after you."

"Friggin' sardines," Dean said, eyes flicking around the area. "They blend in well with their environment. No one sees them coming."

"The rain," Sam garbled, looking skyward as the drops came down in droves.

"Yeah." Dean rolled his eyes at his brother. "Sorry, it's not fruit flavored candy, bro."

"No." Sam shook his head. "The rain, Dean, when it started to…when the creature got wet…that's when I could see it."

"Whatever," Dean said, completely disinterested, searching Sam's pockets. "Where's your gun?"

Sam's jaw clenched. "About that."

"Go Fish got that too?" Dean glared at Sam, throwing his hands up in the air.

Sam pursed his lips.

"Bitchface me all you want, we're going to have a serious talk about that later." He raised Sam to his feet with great care.

Still, Sam stumbled into Dean and gave a little cry, the pain in his arm threatening to bury him back in darkness.

"Come on, Faye Ray." Dean grabbed hold of him and kept him steady, dipping under Sam's good arm he hiked his sopping wet, injured brother against him securely as he brought them to standing.

Sam's legs quivered and he swayed drunkenly, his boots waterlogged and feeling more like cement blocks.

"You think you can make it through to the Impala?" Dean stared at Sam's white-as-a-sheet face.

"What? No." Sam struggled to stay upright. "Job's not done, Dean, we can't just up and leave. I screwed up. It's…I mean they've killed too many people already, and there's still one out there."

"Doesn't matter," Dean said moodily, moving them slowly along. "That arm of yours plus that lump on your head takes the pie."

"Dean," Sam protested.

"Listen, we'll be lucky to get back to the car without running into Kong The Sequel." Dean shivered.

Sam frowned. "Where's your jacket? Better question…where's your gun?"

Dean gave Sam a cold stare.

"Now who's going to need a serious talking too," he said dizzily searching the tapestry of gray fog swirling around them.

"I couldn't exactly go all Kurt Russell-Overboard after your ass with three pounds of metal, and two pounds of leather tacked to my person, bad enough I left my boots on."

Sam swayed dizzily. "We're unarmed," he said, searching the tapestry of gray and black fog swirling around them.

"We're not unarmed," Dean snipped, "Got this." He stopped just long enough to lean down and pull his Blackhawk hunting knife from the sheath around his ankle.

Sam raised a brow. "You may as well try to stab it with a toothpick, Dean."

"Don't have a toothpick," Dean snarked getting them moving again, knowing Sam was right. "But we are going past the tug boat on the way to the Impala. I'll snag the gun, jacket too. Give the sardine I killed a kick to the head just on principal alone."

"What if the other one shows up before that?" Sam coughed, barely staying on his feet, hobbling along.

"I'll go all Eye of the Tiger on its ass, and stab it in the heart" Dean joked.

"Singing it to death," Sam hissed, trying to straighten his hunched shoulders and breathe through the dizziness that was overtaking him. "Might work."

"Dude!" Dean barked, holding onto Sam like he was a child rather than a grown man and heading them toward the boat. "We'll be back to the car in five minutes, just keep moving and watch-"

"Everything," Sam panted.

It was slow going, the planks slick to maneuver over. Sam's legs were getting more unsteady by the second. He braced himself against Dean, body and mind operating more on instinct then any real control. The dock was strangely quiet, save for the bay that churned and swirled, its waves cast in shades of eerie-green. The night air damp and sharp with the scent of sea salt. At least the lightning had stopped and the rain had slowed for now.

Sam coughed, his arm a roar of fire and threatening to melt right off his shoulder as if it were nothing more than plastic. "See anything?" he asked.

"Nothing," Dean said with certainty, eyes kept on every moving shadow. "Hang on, you're doing great," he muttered softly.

"We should move faster," Sam's voice quivered, his fear growing that he might pass out any second, and Dean would be left to carry his giant ass back to the car. Or worse, his big brother could be attacked by the pier monster and he'd have no backup.

"Yeah," Dean turned and looked at Sam, then at the kid's arm. He scowled, seeing the ever ballooning limb and blood still seeping through his flannel. Not to mention Sam's alabaster-white fingers, so not a good sign. "We're moving as fast as I deem, you going to stay with?"

"I'm coherent, Dean," Sam scoffed, and then winced as ripples of red-hot heat threatened to pull a scream from his dry mouth.

"Sammy, tell the truth."

"Everything's spinning, and I feel like I'm going to throw up, but yeah…" Sam lifted his chin in defiance, only to have it dip back to his chest, eyes on his boots. "I'm with you," he garbled, lifting his chin again.

"You sure you can make it, Susie Bobblehead?" Dean asked worriedly.

"No," Sam answered, not bothering to lie anymore. "But you'll make sure I do," he said with a vote of confidence.

"You can count on that, Sammy. You can count on that," Dean said, the statement worthy of repeating.

TBC….


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

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"You stay here." Dean leaned Sam up against a lamppost." I'm going for the gun and my jacket." He turned away, stopped a second, and then turned back.

Sam leaned heavily against the pole, his good arm wrapped around the cold, rusted metal holding himself up. "I'm fine." He blinked and squinted at Dean.

Thunder crackled and lightning lit the sky.

"Go, Dean," Sam blinked against the raindrops. "Rain lets up-"

"We'll have a real rain of terror on our hands," Dean chuckled.

Sam huffed and rolled his eyes. "Seriously?"

"I thought it was funny," Dean murmured as he turned away, climbing the rope ladder back up onto the boat. He hurried around the busted up cabin, still able to smell blood. Blood of the monster, blood of his brother, and his anger flared. "I'm not just going to kick you in the head for good measure, I'm going to–shut the front door," he screeched in shock skidding to a halt.

"What is it?" Sam called from the boardwalk and tried to take a step away from the pole he'd been desperately clinging to, but the world tilted and all he could do was hug the pole tighter.

Before Sam could call out again, Dean was there awkwardly clambering down the ladder, skipping the last two rungs. "We gotta go." He thudded to the wooden planks of the walkway. "Right now." He rushed over to Sam tugging him away from the lampost and wrapping an arm around Sam's waist moving them along the rain slicked walk, not an inch of space between them.

Sam noted Dean was now wearing his soggy jacket, his gun steady in his hand. Confident, yet something inside his brother trembled.

"It's gone isn't it? The one you killed?" Sam squeezed his brother's hunting knife tight in his left hand, his injured arm close to his body burning with pain.

Dean ground his teeth together, his face screwed in concentration as he watched for the slightest movement among the shadows.

"You're joking," Sam said.

Dean frowned and stared into Sam's eyes.

"Okay." Sam tilted his head to the side in thought. "So… not joking…you sure you shot it in the heart?"

"Dude!" Dean hissed, completely offended, raising a hand to swipe the rain from his face.

"Yeah, okay, sorry. So how's it up and walking?" Sam gasped._ Man, his arm was throbbing._

"Your guess is as good as mine," Dean muttered, his forehead bunched in wrinkles and side glancing at his brother.

The sky crackled with electricity and the ground rumbled under their feet as they moved as fast as possible down the boardwalk, tendrils of fog whisking around like long white rope trying to trip them.

"This is badass shit crazy," Dean bit out sharply, eyeing the area.

"You mean this is batshit crazy." Sam licked his lips, and hunched over, trying to hide the pain he knew was etched on his face. He was near collapse, his legs like mushy spaghetti noodles. "Mmmm," he whimpered, desperate to hold back the pulsing pain shooting through his arm worsening with each step.

"Badass, batshit, what's the difference," Dean griped, then whispered, "Almost there, Sammy." His arm tightened around Sam, his belly clenching at how hard Sam struggled to keep with it, but Dean quickened his pace anyway. "Just hold on, brother."

Sam gave Dean a weak smile.

A gust of wind blew up bringing with it a skunk-tinged odor –sweet, yet sickening.

Dean's muscles tensed as he took inventory of a tangle of wet newspapers clumped up against some old lobster traps piled in the shadows. He raised an eyebrow, and gave a barely recognizable nod.

Sam stiffened, causing sharp spikes to shoot up through his arm and into his shoulder. But he kept pace, kept his cool, when he saw what Dean saw.

The hulking outlines of two monsters in the gloom only a few yards away.

"Can you stay on your feet?" Dean asked, slowly slipping his arm away from Sam's waist.

Sam didn't hesitate, straightening as much as he could, and taking up his own weight, tightening his grip on the blade in his hand.

"Get to the car," Dean gritted out his teeth. Before Sam could protest, Dean shoved the kid in that direction, then twisted and stared right at the two lurking shadows. "Go for it, dickbags." Dean's shrill voice echoed over the water. "Come and get me," he taunted.

"Dean." Sam whirled around, advancing on his brother, unwilling to leave. "Don't be stupid."

Dean was just about to shove Sam away again when two piercing wails split the air, the twin monsters abruptly thundering out from their cover.

"Stupid is as stupid does and all that crap." Dean stepped up in front of Sam and fired off his entire clip in rapid succession at the charging monsters.

Both pier monsters' screeched in pain, one going straight-backed and falling to the ground several bullets having entered its heart. "Stay dead, bitch," Dean whooped.

But the time for celebration ended fast as the remaining beast was upon them, still screeching. It's impossibly broad shoulders ramming into Dean, sending him flying.

Dean let out a painfilled cry as he hit the ground hard a few yards away.

"Dean, no!" Sam shouted in horror, clumsily stumbling in Dean's direction.

Sam slid to a stop, and stood over his fallen brother like a guard dog.

Strangely, the remaining monster hadn't followed. It had turned tail and now mirrored Sam. Standing guard over its fallen companion.

Rain continued to fall, the darkness crackling with repeated flashes of lightning, giving off a strobe-light effect.

The creature's long, wet dreadlocks blew wildly in the wind, gleaming teeth showing as it snarled at Sam, but still remained protectively over its mate.

Dean's vision was hazy, but he could see the scar running across the creature's neck. "You bitch," he muttered. "I killed you."

"Apparently not dead enough," Sam said sarcastically.

"Sammy, go! Go now," Dean spit blood from a cut on his lip, rolling to one side and reloading his gun as he struggled up to his feet. "Die you hunk of scaled flesh," he said and fired off a few rounds hitting the creature solid right between the eyes. .

It cried out in pain, but only seemed to be briefly stunned.

"Head shot? Heart shot? What kind of concocted crap?" Dean hissed, having difficulty putting weight on his left foot.

"Broken?" Sam asked, glancing over.

"Twisted," Dean hissed, staring at the creature as it bent over its companion and started shaking it. "Why wont' these things die? Heart shot should kill them according to the lore."

The fallen monster opened its eyes and sat straight up.

"'Sammy, something's not right here."

Sam took in a deep breath, exhaled, "You're just figuring that out now, Dean?" Sam rasped. His strength was at less than half and his heart was pounding as he took a shaky step forward.

Dean grabbed Sam by his shirt cuff and held him back. "Toothpick, remember," he tilted his head toward the knife. "Regenerating twin monsters was not in the brochure. We're out of here." He took Sam by the arm and started to make their retreat, when both monsters suddenly charged again. "Holy –" Dean yelped firing off a few more rounds and hitting the bigger of the two creatures.

They both wailed in pain and faltered, once again stunned.

"Twins." Sam's eyes went wide in realization. "Dude, they're connected." He staggered against Dean.

"Whoa, Sam, take it easy." Dean kept a firm hold on Sam.

"Maybe they both have to die at the same time," Sam said uncertainly.

Dean thought about that, watching the monsters as they swayed against each other. He didn't have time to sort through this. His little brother was hurt and he wasn't risking Sam in some maybe-this-maybe-that monster fight. Especially when they only had one gun between them.

"We're leaving," Dean said, decision made, he backed them away. Humpy and Dumpty would have to get scrambled another day.

But it was too late; the monsters once again had recovered and were rushing them.

"No choice," Sam yelped, pulling away from Dean's grip. "I got the right." Knife raised, he ran to meet the monster with the scar across its throat – the one that had tossed him overboard.

"Sam, no! You stupid..." Dean's words trailed off, replaced by bursts of gunfire.

Both creatures wailed in unison, but the creature in front of Sam didn't even slow this time, swiping out at the side of Sam's head with a hand the size of a turkey platter.

Sam ducked, but not quickly enough, and the pier monster clipped the side of his temple sending him tottering backward and unsteadily tripping over his own two left feet. The knife fell from Sam's hand and plopped into a cloudy puddle of water. He could hear Dean hollering to him, followed by more gunfire as he landed hard on his injured arm, pain so bad he wasn't even able to scream.

Lightning flashed, and the rain exploded as the storm picked up force.

Sam turned his head searching for his brother through the curtain of large raindrops, but didn't see him anywhere. _Had Dean miraculously shot both monsters at the same time?_

Dazed, Sam looked at his arm still held against his chest, fresh, warm blood seeping through the shirt.

Something dropped beside him, and leaned in close.

"D'n," Sam moaned and writhed, barely able to bring his head up.

_Uh-oh. _Dean never smelled that bad, so bad Sam could taste it.

The world was moving fast, spinning around him like a tornado. He gagged and blinked once to clear his vision, finding himself nose-tip to nose-tip with the scared-necked creature.

Slimy dreadlocks brushed across Sam's face like a vomit-encrusted school mop. "Gah," he wheezed but didn't turn his head away, looking up into the monster's evil glowing eyes.

The creature grabbed hold of him and lifted him up.

Sam let out an anguished grunt, and bit into his lower lip until he tasted blood, desperate to stay conscious. He could feel the monster's anger, its grip tightening, claws digging into his collar bone. Sam moaned, his eyelids fluttering and nearly passing out as his injured arm slid from the security of the belt, useless and dangling. He was conscious enough, however, to realize the creature was going to take him back to the water. It's refuge. Sam knew this. He'd been through it before, but had no strength left to fight as the thing hoisted him up into its arms.

Lightning crackled and thunder clashed, rain mixing with dime-sized hail that stung like bees when it hit. If the rain stopped all together they'd really be screwed. _Where was Dean? _

As if on cue_, a_ gunshot rang out and the pier monster screeched along with its twin. Once again stunned, it relaxed its hold on Sam and dumped him at its feet.

Sam grunted out loud, blood-tinged water streaming down the side of his face from his head wound. It was like being slammed by a giant wave.

"Together, brother," Dean's exhausted, pain filled voice carried over the wind and rain and buzzing in Sam's head. "We finish it together!"

Sam nodded. _That was and would always be the Winchester way. _Fighting through the pain and under-the-water feeling, Sam reached out in search of the knife. He knew he only had a few precious seconds to catch his breath before the stunned pier monster would be back on him. Gasping and choking, Sam' fingers suddenly brushed against something sharp. _Finally._ It was the knife still lying in the puddle of water. The keenly sharpened edge sliced through his finger as he twisted the blade around until he had the hilt held fast in his hand.

The creature was back. Its hot, wet breath right in his face as it gave a low guttural growl, slapping a webbed hand onto Sam's chest and squeezing him against the ground.

Sam shrieked in agony, nearly loosing the knife and his consciousness.

"Saaaammm!" Dean yelled. "On two," his voice carried to Sam over the wind and rain and pelting hail.

Sam took a breath. A split second difference and the creatures would only be stunned again, not dead. Sam counted off two seconds, and plunged his brother's knife up into the pier monster's heart at the same time Dean's gun blast reverberated all around.

The creature pinning Sam drew its hand away from his chest as it sat back, head tipped toward the sky, its guttural scream matching its mates, blood spraying out the monster's mouth as it fell to its right side with a huge splash.

**TBC...**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/

"Sam?"

Sam lifted his head, turning toward his brother's voice.

"Hey, man, talk to me." Across the way, Dean gave the monster one swift kick.

Sam's brow furrowed. Everything swirled, focusing and unfocusing.

"And stay dead." Dean put his gun away and splashed over to his brother, kneeling down by Sam's side. "Sammy." He gripped the kid's chin, bile rising in his throat at the touch of warm, wet blood still dripping from his brother's head wound.

"Huh?" Sam shivered hard, looking more than a little confused.

"Hey, hey, hey," Dean said, taking Sam's good hand into his and tightening his fingers.

"Got to make-make sure..." Sam let out a grunt, head dropping back to the cold, wet ground. His arm was engulfed in pain and he started to shake violently.

"Humpty and Dumpty are Done and doner," Dean said, taking a quick look at the monster right next to Sam.

It's eyes were open and dulled by death.

"Dean. No. We-we-we gotta –"

"Shut up, Miss Muffet," Dean hissed. "They're both toast. All we've got to do now is fix your tuffet. Think you can get to the car?"

Sam didn't answer, blinking a few times until his brother's face came fully into focus. The wind was blowing hard, rain pouring down, but the hail had stopped. White specks danced across Sam's eyes followed by a black cloud closing in fast.

Sam moaned, closing his eyes. Dizziness, cold, and pain had overtaken every part of his body.

"Exactly what I was thinking," Dean murmured. "Be right back." He patted Sam's chest and then was gone

Sam wanted to get up and follow, but a strange kaleidoscope of color swirled behind his closed lids and everything went soundless, the world spinning off into nothing.

/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/

He was on his back. Wild waves crashing over him and whisking him away, taking him down deeper and deeper.

Gloom.

Rain.

Darkness.

Black on black.

A heavy hammer pounding against his head.

An iron bar thwacking against his arm.

"Hold on there, Sammy."

Splashing.

Clattering.

"I gottcha."

Ghostly hands reached out of nowhere and caught hold of him. Held him. Kept him from being lost forever in the darkness. Whispering fingers moved over his body, fiddled with his arm, his head, his hair, and then his arm again.

"Here we are...here we go, pal."

A cold sharp pinch came to his skin and Sam ground his teeth together.

"It's okay, Sam. This will help."

"Huh?" Sam hummed reluctant to swim up out of the pitch-blackness.

"Definitely need to go to the hospital."

Sam felt confused. He was wet and cold and stiff, but his heart was thumping in his ears and his chest rose and fell slowly. That was how he knew he was at least still alive.

"Sam, open your eyes now."

Sam frowned, mind sluggishly sifting through what had happened. There were monsters. Monster's the size of apartment complexes all around and out to get them….out to get the world. And he had to stop them all.

"Reckless son of a bitch. You're as stubborn as dad...maybe more. Sam!" There came rustling beside him, then a hand patting at his cheek.

Sam grunted in aggravation.

"Least you could do is give me something here."

_Go away. _He tried to say the words, but they only came out as more grunts.

"Dude, I swear."

Sam wanted to let the crashing waves carry him away.

"You can have your remote control privileges. Just open your damn eyes, man." The frantic patting hand at his cheek, and far-off voice kept him tethered to the surface.

"Sam..."

Sam blinked.

"Monster of a job is over, kiddo, now wake your monster of an ass up so we can get out of here."

Sam blinked a few more times, but then tumbled back into the black.

"Sam. That's enough with the down and under routine."

Sam continued to drift falling deeper into darkness.

"Come on, man." The person seemed to follow Sam down the rabbit hole. "Crap, too much? Not enough. Can't ever tell with you."

"Wha'?" Sam murmured disinterestedly.

"Hey!" Yelled full-throttle right in his hear. "Need you here, bro."

Sam jolted and shivered. He tried to reach out with his right hand, and whimpered at the roar of pain cutting through like glass.

"No, no, no." The ghostly hand was there, gently restraining. "Easy, easy, don't move that, remember it's busted."

Sam turned his head sluggishly to the left and opened his eyes. He was flat on his back, resting on the wet ground. It was still plummeting rain, the filtering moonlight making the large drops sparkle like diamonds falling from the sky. Not far from him lay the hulking mass of his kill. He looked into the dead monsters face, mouth and eyes opened, tangled, slimy hair splayed out over the ground, the fresh flow of blood leaking out of its chest.

In a mad rush everything came back to him.

Sam lurched upward and gave a howl of pain.

"Damn it, Sammy, not helping." Two hands caught a hold of him and eased him back down. "Hang on."

Another sharp pinch came to the crook of his arm.

"Ow," Sam gasped at the burning sensation, swiveling his head and locking gazes with his brother.

"Okay, Sammy, that ought to do you for now…gave you enough to tranquilize a friggin' elephant."

Sam's jaw worked overtime, trying to say the name that was on the tip of his tongue – a tongue that suddenly felt fat and numb; instead he let out a frustrated moan. "What?" He licked his swollen lips. "You…?"

"First aid kit," Dean informed, holding the black satchel up showing Sam. "Hit you up with the good stuff, Buddy," Dean smiled and ducked his head closer. "Twice," he shook his head sadly. "You're going to be airborne for a while," he said, giving a tight, little laugh.

Sam tipped his head slightly up to look at his injured arm. The limb lay across his chest, once again resting in the belt loop and now swathed heavily in thick, white bandages. He no longer felt a thing, but the looks of the injury made his stomach flop and his vision blur. "Crap, that's bad," Sam diagnosed, head falling back and looking up at Dean.

"You got crowned good too," Dean said, eyeing the lump on the back of Sam's head. "Pretty damn sure you have a concussion."

"What else is new?" Sam grimaced, his entire body shaking with shock.

"Not much," Dean muttered, staring down at Sam. "Unless you got laid by a squad of hot cheerleaders somewhere along the way and didn't tell me," he chuckled, but it came out sounding uneasy and strained.

"Dean, always with the sex." Sam gave a weak smile staring skyward. Rain continued to fall, and they both were soaked. "We need to get rid of the bodies," he mumbled.

"We need to get you and that thing you call an arm to the ER.," Dean countered flatly, slipping a hand behind Sam's back and sitting him up. "I already called Bobby; he's almost here, he'll handle the cleanup. "Dean locked an arm around him. "Up. Stand up," he instructed, lifting Sam as quickly and as gently as possible.

Sam sucked in a few deep breaths getting his legs under him, unsteadily bracing against Dean.

"Try to stay with me."

Sam nodded.

"Getting a little too Noah's Arch out here," Dean commented, ducking his head. "Think you can walk to the car now, sasquatch?" he asked, anchoring Sam further, taking most of his weight. "Okay?"

Sam pressed his lips together and took a few steps, staring at his boots and operating more on determination than muscle. "Fine."

They moved along the boardwalk, Dean humming in Sam's ears.

"There's my Baby," Dean cooed.

Sam lifted his head to see the Impala only a few yards away. _That was fast. _He must have slipped off for a minute or two. The wind still howled-sounding like the monsters- but the rain had lessened.

"Almost there," Dean encouraged.

Sam tilted his head upward, letting the light sprinkle patter against his face as he labored for breath, legs about to collapse beneath him.

"How you feeling?" Dean asked softly.

"Honestly?" White clouds crossed Sam's field of vision and he blinked twitchingly. "Feel like I…like I should pass out."

"Man, dude, you said you could walk."

"Changed…I changed my mind," Sam whimpered like a sleepy puppy. "Sorry," he whispered on a breath as his eyes rolled back into his head and his body went all floppy-broken-puppet in Dean's arms.

"Sam! "Dean just barely caught his bendy brother before he could hit the ground, the kid's head lifelessly rolling about. "Just like a girl, Sam, always changing your friggin' mind," he groused. "Now we've got to do this the hard way." He battled with Sam's uncooperative body dragged him as carefully as he could the last few feet to the car, the heels of Sam's boots sloshing through water puddles as they went. "You owe me a beer, bro."

**AN: Tag coming up next**


	5. Conclusion

Tag

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Flashes of light zapped behind Sam's eyes causing them to twitch with pain as images came to him.

Colored pool balls tapped into one another, a fifty dollar bill snapped loudly, a voice yammering something about someone owing someone a beer.

Things quickly flipped from fun and friendly to scary and tense.

There was a long wooden dock, scurrying shadows, gray fog, a dead-fishy smell. He remembered loud growling and biting and the snapping of teeth and splashing water mixed with hard bits of ice.

Then he was floating again, in nothing but darkness.

Had he slipped down into a hole or a crack in some deep, damp cave?_That'd suck._ But, that would at least be something. This empty-nothing he was in right now…was scaring the crap out of him.

He was alone.

_Where was Dean?_

Sam's heart pounded, his breath trying to catch up. He gave a grunt and shifted, but his body wouldn't respond the way he wanted it to. There was a tiny campfire burning in his right arm and there was a banging in his head. He ran his tongue over his dry lips and tasted blood, tried to talk but could only groan.

As out of it as Sam felt, he registered the sound of one boot thumping swiftly across the floor and he groaned again. Who was coming for him? Or better yet…what one-legged beast?

"Shhh. It's okay." A cool hand settled softly to his forehead.

_Everything was not okay._ Everything was black and bubbling and whirling like an old washing machine.

His heart leapt inside him and his body jolted as he tried to sit up.

"What're you doing, Sam?" The cool hand on his forehead added a little pressure. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep him down

Sam tried to reach out with his right hand, but it wouldn't obey. His left hand weakly scrabbled across scratchy material at his side, coming in contact with some kind of flimsy flexible line, fingers latching on. He yanked hard, a low whimper rising from the back of his throat as something pinched and itched and burned the crook of his arm all at the same time.

"No, damn it, don't mess with that!" Someone was sitting right next to him, the scratchy voice so loud it nearly blew out Sam's eardrums.

Sam tried to roll away but his clumsy body wouldn't respond.

"Sammy, hey, wait...wait." A trusting-warmth slid over his scrabbling hand and squeezed hard. "You couldn't move a lock of hair right now if you tried...so stop trying."

The mix of stale coffee and maple glazed donut breath strangely quieted his panicked heartbeats.

_ The voice. The someone. It was Dean. Dean was with him._

Sam worked his jaw. "D-Dean," he stuttered clumsily.

"I'm here," Dean gave another squeeze to Sam's hand.

Sam opened his eyes, and found his brother staring back at him - exhausted and troubled.

"About time you landed," Dean scoffed. "Didn't think that growing fever of yours would ever break." He smiled. "Hope you've enjoyed our flight, because I haven't gotten a wink."

Sam smiled, more out of habit then desire. Dean was a man who never liked to show his worry. A man who never admitted to praying, but judging by his haggard brother now…he'd been doing both at 90-miles per hour for some time.

Sam's weighted, gummy eyes quivered, struggling to stay open. His focus zooming in and out like a camera as he took in the room. "Landed?" he asked weakly, nausea slamming into him.

"Dude." Dean rolled his eyes. "Think you just took back off to circle the runway."

"T-two," Sam said with great effort. "I was..." He lifted his head and turned a little, staring at the plastic tubing coming out of his left arm. "There's...there's two." He closed his eyes, and swallowed.

"Easy, it's all over," Dean whispered, sitting forward, his cool touch on Sam's forehead easing him back to the pillow. "Trust me, Sammy."

"Dean?"

"Told you...right here, man."

Sam opened his eyes and frowned, watching Dean pinch the bridge of his own nose.

"You need time to refuel, Sam."

"You refuel," Sam slurred, sounding more like a small boy than a man. He wasn't fully awake, but he was aware enough to know he'd put Dean through the ringer.

"Little brother, you're ass backwards." Dean dropped his hand and looked up, gaze drifting to Sam's right side. "You're the one with the arm squished like a friggin banana, and I'm the one who's going to have to be your personal 'everything' maid for the next six weeks."

Sam sluggishly followed Dean's gaze.

His right arm was heavily casted from shoulder to wrist, and his fingers twitched involuntarily. Pain was intruding fast and holding on hard. He wrinkled his nose, not sure which made him more nauseous. Maid-Dean holding a pink feather duster, wearing a frilly black and white short skirt, and low cut blouse – minus the inflatable breasts –or the blood-coated gooey mess he remembered his arm being in.

Sam winced at the brain-stabbing image. "Rather have," he gasped, "Don't…no bow tie…no pants."

"You're right," Dean chuckled lightly, a cup magically appearing in his hand. "Guess skirts are more your thing. Ha!" He lifted Sam's head a little and placed a straw to his lips. "Small sip."

Sam sucked in a few tiny drops, the cool water easing the burning dryness in his throat on the way down.

"You in pain?" Dean lowered Sam's head back into the plump pillows.

"A nine," Sam sputtered, and coughed. _Crap he didn't want to say that. _"But...um...no...," he tried to worm his way out. "I'm fine." He gave a small nod. "Fine, Dean."

"Too late," Dean grouched, having already pressed the nurse's call button.

A nurse tiptoed in. "Everything okay?" The gray-haired woman asked kindly.

"He's a nine...needs to be rocked back to sleep," Dean said, waving a hand at Sam who'd turned pale and shaky.

The nurse took one look at Sam and whipped out a syringe like the town sheriff drawing down on an outlaw. "This will make him feel groggy and disoriented."

"That's what we want, right, Sammy?" Dean asked watching the nurse go to work, quickly delivering the medication to Sam's IV.

Sam moaned.

"There you go, doll," she said to Sam, then muttered a few quiet words to Dean, gave Sam a sweet smile vowing to come back in a few hours, then left the room.

Dean tiredly slammed his ass in the chair next to Sam's bed. "Just rest some more, Sam. Bobby will be here soon to break us out."

"Bobby?" Sam slurred, eyes growing heavier. "He...he...go...I mean two...if Noah's arch didn't rain..."

"You know Bobby. He figured it out." Dean gave a chuckle, easily deciphering drugged-Sammy-speak. "Nothing left to chance. It's taken care of, Sam," he said sprawling fully in the chair and pulling off his one boot.

Sam scowled at Dean's bare foot and heavily wrapped ankle. "Broken?"

"Told you before, bro, twisted."

Sam nodded. "And Bobby?"

Dean huffed, "Last time I'm telling you, Dopey. Bobby took care of our baggage." Dean paused waiting to see if Sam was following the bouncing ball.

Sam gave a curt nod.

"He called a bit ago," Dean continued. "Said he piled the twins up, ran over them ten times with his truck, soaked them in hooch, lit them on fire, and put their ashes in an empty oil can," Dean chuckled.

"Why he do that?" Sam asked, slowly scooting further down in the bed.

"I don't know, Sammy," Dean grouched, just wanting his brother to get a little more rest. "Maybe he's planning on-"

"Mixing their ashes with dog shit," Bobby grumbled, stepping into the room.

"What?" Sam and Dean stared at Bobby, who stood dripping wet in the doorway.

"Hell boys." Bobby sighed in disbelief, digging in his pocket and bringing out an old cloth, wiping it across his face. "After what they did to Sam. Tried to do to you, Dean..." he walked over to an empty chair near the window, and sunk tiredly down into the seat, stuffing the cloth back in a pocket. "I'm planning on mixing their ashes with dog shit and spreading them about like fertilizer in my backyard…when they grow into trees," he said waiving a forceful hand in the air. "I'm going to cut them suckers down and throw them in the wood chipper and burn the mother's all over again...for fun," he added with triumph.

"Nice," Dean chirped excitedly. "Can I man the chipper?"

"Worry about manning your brother, ya idgit." Bobby tipped his head toward Sam.

Dean turned to see Sam silently sliding down the bed, and half-leaning over to hang off the side.

"Aw shit." Dean shot up out of his chair, hobbling unsteadly on his good foot while grasping Sam by the shoulders. "Where you think you're going, bro?"

"You always get to man the chipper...my turn," Sam drunkenly garbled, staring glassy-eyed up at Dean.

"Dude, take it easy, you're going to hurt yourself." He assisted Sam back onto the bed.

"You hurt yourself." Sam shifted trying to sit back up. "I should…I should…I should…my arm is itchy," he slurred, eyeing a spot on his good arm and struggling to reach over to scratch.

"Got it, little brother." Dean scratched the spot Sam was oogling. "Better?"

Sam nodded and sighed deeply. "Butt itches too," he added, squirming about under the covers.

"What the?" Dean's eyes popped wide.

"It itches bad, Dean," Sam whined, pleading puppy eyes blinking up at Dean.

"No. Uh-uh. I….just…oh, no, nope, nope, nope." Dean shook his head hard. "I'll do a lot of things for you, Sammy. Let you drive the Impala, put the soft rock music on for you to help you sleep, hell...I'll even share my pie...but you scratch your own... can scratch your own...your own...your own," Dean bit into his lip at a loss.

"Badonkadonk," Bobby smirked.

Dean flashed Bobby an evil glare.

"Dean," Sam whimpered.

Dean's evil glare turned to pleading. _Little help with him Bobby?_

"He's your brother, Dean" Bobby sniggered. "Told you to man him."

"How the hell am I supposed to man his...badonk-whatever?" Dean spat at Bobby.

"Very carefully," Bobby snorted, getting up out of the chair and coming to stand behind Dean.

"Ha, ha," Dean deadpanned, staring down at Sam.

"Ha, ha," Sam parroted, eyes slipping shut.

"So listen up, you two, here's what's going to happen," Bobby instructed seriously. "I'm going to clear you a pathway, before someone finds out your insurance ain't insurance. Dean," he said the name seriously. "Can you and that sprained ankle of yours get your drug- induced brother dressed and sneak his itchy ass to the back of the hospital, north side of the parking lot."

"Yes, sir," Dean assured, easing Sam slowly up to sitting.

Sam leaned against Dean heavily, watching as Dean began to disconnect his IV line .

"Good," Bobby snipped. "Then you idgits can follow me in the Impala back to my place for the duration of Sam's recovery." Bobby rolled his eyes at the two of them and left the room.

"You get all that, Mile High?" Dean asked Sam, now trying to manhandle the kid's hospital gown off his shoulders.

"No plane." Sam nodded, eyes still closed. "Vroom-vroom to Bobby's," he did his best impersonation of the Impala.

"Close enough, little brother. Close enough."

The end


End file.
